Angle of Refraction
by fabled wings
Summary: No one cares about what's beyond this horizon, because people are only interested in the beauty that's already laid out in front of them, they don't want to think any further, for fear of the gritty and the upsetting. They like to stay in denial; just like you. YY/TKB for R2 of the YGO Fanfiction Contest S9 3/4


Angle of Refraction

It's the one and only secret he keeps from Yuugi, his roams on every other night and that he suppresses Yuugi's consciousness as he does so. He knows that it is selfish for him to do so, but as days and nights passed, he grew impatient and desperate to reach his goal. As much as he was fine with being 'mou hitori no Yuugi', his origin and past was still a mystery to him, had been for three thousand years; he used to think that if he was able to play the waiting game for such a long time, a few more days, months, even years, wouldn't matter – but that was three millennia of being suspended in a dark limbo, of which stagnancy drove him near insane. He may be the proclaimed King of Games, but this was one of the rare games he found to be much more of a challenge.

He's dressed in complete black, to blend in with the night; the Puzzle resting against his abdomen glints brightly when the light from the streetlamps reflect off its golden surface, but it goes almost unnoticed, as Yami – the name he prefers to go by – is a being of darkness in his own right and thus fits in perfectly with the backdrop. There's only a couple of others out at this time of the night, however, thus he's never had to worry about drawing attention to himself.

Yami finds himself ending up at the pier most often, even though he has wandered through every inch and corner of the warehouses around it. Somehow, standing by the sea as the breeze drifts in, breathing the cool air, it makes his head feel clearer, and maybe this way he might recall bits and pieces of his past. His attempts are baseless, but at least he's trying, if only to be rewarded with the illusion that he was getting closer to his goal.

The sky is red, and the moon is nowhere to be seen; he wonders if it is a motif to his current predicament, that he may have to swim through a sea of blood before he will be able to reach the shining pearl that hangs up high. It would of course be preferred if no real blood is shed, but Yami was a Pharaoh – he understands that avoiding war is unlikely. And hadn't blood been shed already, when the knife dragged painful strokes down Malik's back and the tombkeepers before him, when Pegasus vanished off the surface of the Earth without a trace, when Yuugi was trapped in that warehouse as he put the puzzle back together, flames licking on all sides?

He hears soft and steady footsteps approaching as a gust of wind pushes his bangs back. It was most likely another straggler, but Yami turned to look at them anyway, picking up his guard. His eyes widen at the identity of the new arrival, before creasing up and delivering a glare at them.

The other's white hair and dark trench coat billows behind him as he stops some feet away, looking out at the calm sea as Yami had been before. Yami feels a tick in his eye as they continues to ignore his presence for a few moments; a smirk tugs on the white-haired person's lips.

"It's a nice night out, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Bakura?" Yami turns to face him, putting one foot behind in a stance.

"I guess… the same thing as you," Bakura tilts his head at an angle and glances at Yami through his bangs. His expression is unreadable, but oddly lack of the malice Yami usually expected of him. "Does your host know that you're tiring his body at night?"

"It's none of your business," Yami retorts, but the thief had definitely tripped him with guilt, and he was, unfortunately, indisputable. He tries to keep his prowls to a couple of hours at most, since Yuugi had school and he didn't want to tire out his host's body, but fact was that he was keeping this a secret, even though they had come to an unspoken agreement that they have nothing to hide from each other. He only sought Yuugi's understanding the day he finally tells him why he sometimes felt lethargic in the mornings. "I should be asking you the same question."

"You would be surprised how strong my precious little host can be. He's a fighter, but I guess you and your little troupe can't be bothered to pay attention to him," he chuckles lowly, but yet again, there was no sign of malice. "After all, it is I who truly dominates this body-"

"That body is not yours."

"Neither is the one you're possessing."

"Yuugi and I have a mutual understanding," Yami stalks towards Bakura, eyes glinting. He spots the outline of the Ring under Bakura's shirt. "You, on the other hand, rob your host of almost any free will he has."

"Funny that you're concerned about him now; you're not even able to use his name."

"That's not the point!" Yami almost shouts, although Bakura is speaking a truth that isn't easy to acknowledge, but he had to exercise caution, whether it be Ryou Bakura or the thief spirit inhabiting the body; the latter could be a cunning, convincing actor. "You haven't answered my question."

"… And I have given you my answer," he says, and Yami picks out the beginning of a sigh in the quiet that is only disrupted by the soft currents of the water. "You shouldn't always assume the worst, Pharaoh."

"My concern is justified," Yami huffs. He resumes staring out at the sea, but keeps one eye on Bakura. "Your motives have been unclear, but you have harmed my friends time and again. That is more than enough reason to be wary."

"All is a means to an end. You'll understand in due time, Pharaoh."

"And why can't I find out right now," Yami moves and stalks over to Bakura, his back against the wind as he faces the other spirit, "when you're right here in front of me, and there's no one else to stand in our way."

"In due time, Pharaoh," Bakura growls out, a tick in his eye as he stares down at Yami, his chin tilted up. "You're too meddlesome for your own good."

Yami, in a rare act of impulse, shoots out an arm and grabs at Bakura's collar and brings him down to his height. He may not remember what kind of ruler he had been as a Pharaoh, but his body and mind remembers the authority and leadership he held, and the command he could hold above others when he wanted to. He flashes his eyes at Bakura, to convey that he is the one in control of the situation, but Bakura only scoffs, and looks over Yami's head.

"You don't ever get to see an ocean that stretches beyond the horizon… back in Egypt."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"No one cares about what's beyond," Bakura continues in a cryptic tone, all the while in an uncomfortable bend thanks to Yami, "because people are only interested in the beauty that's already laid out in front of them, they don't want to think any further, for fear of the gritty and the upsetting. They like to stay in denial; just like you."

"Bakura, watch what you say."

"There's that denial!" Bakura shoves Yami away, chuckling as he smoothes out his shirt. "You assume, that just because you were once ruler of a great civilization, that you're the King of Games, that you've saved the world a few times, you're always right. You won't listen to anything else, especially someone you've determined to be a villain – someone like me."

"You've done nothing to make me think otherwise."

"Not everything's as black and white as you like to think, Pharaoh," Bakura steps forward towards Yami, lifting the Millennium Ring from beneath his shirt. Yami clutches at his Puzzle, awaiting whatever Bakura seems to have planned. He felt for his deck, secure at the side of his hip. "I didn't have any intention to oppose you tonight, but since you're here, I'll invite you in for a little trip."

Yami narrows his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

The spirit of the Ring doesn't say anything; he brings the pendant to the front of his chest, the pointers emitting a dim glow as they lift up and point straight at Yami. The centre burns bright; the Puzzle reacts with the same burning glow. Yami doesn't find any moment to consider his options before he feels the sensation of a _tug _at his waist, and he shields his eyes with one arm as the light engulfs the both of them.

* * *

Yami wakes up on a cold stone floor – at a glance, it looks like he had been thrown into his own soul room, but further inspection of his surroundings told him otherwise. For one, his own soul room didn't have dark mist seeping out of cracks in the walls, nor did wind howl across the chambers. It wasn't as confusing a labyrinth as his own, but it was alike in the way bricks are stacked on top of one another to create walls and stairs. Yami observes them shifting around at different speeds, creating different pathways.

"Bakura!" Yami's yell echoes throughout the room, bouncing back at him. No reply greets him. "What have you done, Bakura? Answer me!"

Getting out, he decides, is his first priority, when he feels a dart sail across the bridge of his nose, and there's Yuugi's body to consider. He gets to his feet and starts hurrying along the shifting corridors, shouting Bakura's name now and then. The mist wraps around him as he makes his way through the soul room, almost as if it had a conscious mind. Yami chances upon a door in the wall, rusted at the sides; after dodging another dart that sails over his head as he ducks, Yami places his hand on the knob and pushes the door open with his shoulder. If this place is anything like his own soul room, it's that it would be filled with traps, but he would have to take risks now and then.

The first thing he sees, however, is sky, a vast expanse of blue that stretches overhead, while beneath him are short pale cuboidal houses and winding streets, deserted of people. He sees a river off to the side among dunes, flowing towards the north. Yami feels his boot sink when he shifts it; he looks down and finds himself upon a tall dune overlooking the buildings, the doorway open ajar behind him. The abundance of sand told him that there was no mistaking it – laid before him is ancient Egypt.

The palace stands tall in front of him, towering over the civilization it rules over. There, he sees why the streets are empty despite it being the middle of the day – a crowd was gathered in front of the palace. Someone stood on the balcony – the pharaoh, perhaps; Yami considers if he was seeing himself, but even from the distance, he could tell that this isn't his reign. Call it intuition, or maybe a dormant part of his memories is telling him so, but Yami finds an unexplained affirmation in this.

Yami is about to leave when hears the muffled strong voice of the pharaoh speaking; the ruler holds out something in his arms, amidst the raucous cheers of his people. Yami takes in this with a sigh. He doesn't remember a thing from his days as pharaoh, being able to see a glimpse of what it had been like feels almost surreal.

It turns out to be an infant held within the pharaoh's hands, flailing their arms in their excitement at the reception; an invisible force pushes Yami back out into the corridor then, and the door slams shut in his face. Yami resumes in his search for an exit after checking that the room couldn't be opened once again. The room before could not have contained a way out anywa, being the keeper of one of Bakura's memories. It occurred then, that it must have been a reign before his own he saw, since he and Bakura were from the same time period in history.

The second door he comes across leads to a bottomless abyss; another one leads to a dead end, while the one after has snakes crowded on the floor – Yami shuts the door as one lashes out at him, fangs bared. It could be Yami's imagination, but the mist seems to turn thicker and more menacing as he traverses the strange labyrinth, although it keeps away from him, preferring to trail behind him.

He hears muffled sobbing as he rounds a corner, getting louder and louder with every step he takes. Yami drags a hand on the walls as he gets closer to the sniffles and chokes, before coming upon another door, except that it lacked a handle or knob to open it. He leans his weight against it, hoping that it would give – although it looked identical to the walls around it, the door swung open easily – too easily, so that Yami half-stumbles through the doorway and has to grip on the edge to remain upright.

It's an empty room he finds himself in, smaller than the others he had found, but the sobs are prevalent here, the noises bouncing off the brick walls and giving off an eerie echo. There is a thick pillar smack dab in the centre, stretching from floor to ceiling – it was the only place where someone could possibly hide.

Yami steps into the room, heel clacking loud against the floor; the sobbing pauses, a shuddering sniff escapes; Yami takes slow steps towards the pillar, knowing that the other is aware of his presence. He isn't able to make out much, since the pillar is obstructing the dim light of the labyrinth that enters the room, but when he moves his vision downward, it is the unmistakeable cowering form of a child that meets his eyes.

The child is on the ground against the pillar, knees bunched up to their chest; when Yami's silhouette fell over them, they raised their head just a slight before gasping and scooting a few inches away, burying their head into their arms. A head of unruly white hair rests on their shoulders, and they wore what appeared to be a shabby tunic that seemed like rags sewn together; it wasn't yet apparent if they were a boy or girl.

Yami crouches down and tries to take a good look at their face, but the child only scoots away another inch, whimpering. It is evident that the child is frightened, had recently encountered something traumatic, and thus had brought up their walls, shying away from anything they thought to be a potential danger. Yami considers that this could be another trap, one more vicious than the others, for he is confronted with something that seems vulnerable and fearful at first glance, but he couldn't just leave this child alone here, whatever they turned out to be.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he starts in a low tone, and reaches out a hand. The child shies away, turning his head. "It's alright," Yami keeps his voice gentle. "I'm just looking for a way out of here. Do you know of one?"

The child raises his head slightly, one eye peeking out of their bangs. Yami thinks they may be studying him, with the lengthy pause right after Yami spoke.

Yami hears a soft intake of breath, before the child half-whispers, wary, "… You're not one of the bad guys?"

"I'm not," Yami shakes his head. "Who are these bad guys you speak of?"

"They… have swords… and really huge shields, and they all looked really mean and scary-"

The child buries his head back into his arms. From the lower pitch of the child's voice and slight sharpness of the jaw, Yami determines that the child is a boy, despite the straggling locks of white and tunic that reached to cover their knees. His skin is dark, slightly dirty with grime. And the swords and shields he mentioned… an army?

"Do I look mean and scary to you? Do I look like I have a sword or a shield?"

The boy lifts up his head again, glances for a short moment at Yami (who squares his expression to look as friendly as possible), and shakes his head slowly. He seems to consider something, before blurting out, "Your hair is weird."

"I- my hair?" Yami touched his bangs, self-conscious. "It's… natural, I guess."

"Can I touch it?"

He would be lying if he said he wasn't bewildered. It was already odd to encounter a young child within the depths of the Ring spirit's soul room, and Yami didn't exactly have much experience handling children. His hair – well, Yuugi's hair – might be quite unique, but he's never had to entertain such a silly request. "Sure?"

Why did he phrase that as a question?

The boy stares at him – it seems he fancied himself an expert at it – before dislodging one arm and grabbing one of his blond locks, tugging just enough to hurt. His hand doesn't linger long before he retracts it back, continuing to stare at Yami with wide, nervous eyes.

"… It's soft," the boy murmurs. "I thought it would be prickly."

"Not everything is as it seems at first," Yami says. The boy sniffs; right, Yami hadn't found out what he was doing in such a place. "What are you doing here, child?"

"Papa and mama. They told me to hide in the shack, they said they'll come back for me!" he burst out. Now that he's had a start, the boy rambles on, syllables running into each other. "Those soldiers came with their swords and shields and they all looked so mean and the guy in front had a hood and looked very important. There was shouting everywhere! Mama and papa and everyone else and then they put me in the shack and told me not to make a sound – but there's so much screaming!" His emotions are escalating, eyes darting about in their sockets. Yami places one knee on the ground, preparing himself for… well, nothing can be entirely as they seem in the soul room of a malevolent spirit. "So I went to find them, but I can't see them…"

"Shall I help you look for your parents?"

"Can you do that?"

"I could try," Yami nods and gives the boy a reassuring smile. "In return, could you help me find a way out?"

"Okay," the young boy shrugs, tense shoulders now lax. "You're really not one of the bad guys?"

"I'm not."

Yami holds out a hand; the boy all but slaps his own in it and lets himself be helped up. The boy only reaches up to Yami's hip, even though he himself had a short stature – an eight-year-old at the most. This situation should work in his favour; even if this boy's existence in Bakura's soul room was a cause for suspicion, as long as Yami complies with the unwritten rules of the labyrinth, his destination would be more easily reached, and he could even help this boy. It would be killing two birds with one rock.

He readjusts his hand so that it is held more snug around the boy's, and asks, "What is your name?"

The boy still has some trepidation in his eyes, Yami discovers, when he looks up at him with grey irises that suddenly seem familiar, although Yami can't place a finger on where he had seen them before. He finds his answer in the boy's next words, an answer that would have left him floored if he weren't already the composed person he was.

"It's Bakura."

* * *

A/N: I might have been too ambitious with this idea, don't think I handled it well, but at least I got something out, yeah! This fic does have more to it, but I was really pressed for time thus this was published without much editing too. There will be one more chapter one day.

Writing this made me realise how out of touch I am with DM canon; I kind of mish-mashed stuff I could remember from the different canons (sub, dub, manga) in the end, hope there's enough coherency.


End file.
